by Dyrk Ashton
Kabir draws his swords, eyeing the ground, and asks, “Where?”
She points with her staff, “There, near the base of the rock, then around to here.”
Kabir says, “Lehavah,” and the swords light. He stabs them into the ice, cutting chunks in the arc described by Akhu.
Holding Ruyi Jingu Bang out before her, Akhu focuses on its glyphs until it grows larger, and pounds the end down. More ice shatters and Akhu drops deeper.
The cry of Ziz comes from a distance. The group turns, Akhu peering over the edge of the hole. Ziz flies along the horizon, but he doesn’t appear to have spotted them.
Mac curses and jumps while swatting with his wings and punching at the air above his head.
“What’s wrong?” Cù growls.
“Hugin!” cries Mac. “Cheeky bastard just landed on my shoulder and spoke in my ear!”
Kabir asks, “What did he say?”
“He said, ‘Time to die’... and something else, in Old Norse.”
“What was it?” Akhu presses.
“I believe it would translate to... ‘fat chicken.’”
Cù Sìth chuckles, but Akhu gives him a dirty look. “I’ll help,” Cù says soberly. He jumps in the hole and starts punching at the ice with his claws and scooping it out. Akhu pounds with her staff, again and again. Kabir finishes cutting the ice and hops in as well, heaving out chunks to widen the hole.
“Here,” says Akhu, clearing ice chips away with her hand to reveal the curved edge of a round bronze plate lying flat in the ground, like a giant manhole. “This is the door,” she adds. She and Cù clear more ice away while Kabir uses the flat of his blades to steam away ice that clings to the surface of the door.
Soon they have a patch cleared, six feet wide—but it’s clear this is only a portion at the edge of a plate that must be twenty feet in diameter. The door is molded with images of snakes in relief, and symbols that look like an amalgamation of Chinese and Sanskrit lettering.
Ziz’s cry comes again. He’s headed straight for them. “Hurry faster,” says Mac.
Akhu studies the door. “The race of Naga, Naga’s children, would press symbols in a combination to open the door. But we’d have to uncover all of it.”
Mac checks Ziz’s progress. “No time for that, lassie.”
Kabir tries jamming a sword into the edge of the door, then chopping at it, both to no avail.
Then there’s a snap of the air above them and Ziz is there.
Akhu closes her eyes in concentration. The glyphs on the staff glow bright and it grows to ten feet long and thick as a fence post. She heaves it up and slams the butt of it down.
The door cracks, then shatters, plunging Kabir and Cù Sìth, along with several tons of ice, stone, and broken door, into the darkness below.
Akhu doesn’t fall, having jammed her staff, now back to normal size, into the ice at the side of the hole. “Mac!” she shouts in his head. He dives in.
Akhu looks up as the shadow of Ziz covers her. He glares down with one plate-sized yellow eye. She yanks her staff free, smacking his beak as he snaps at her, and drops.
* * *
Eerie blue light illuminates Akhu’s descent. She spins, hitting the stone walls of the hole as she drops, bouncing herself from wall to wall, purposefully causing it to collapse behind her.
* * *
On the surface, Ziz rears back from the crumbling ice and rock that slough into the hole, causing Kleron and Hugin to take flight and Xeco to leap from his back. The towering stones at the edge topple, sealing it shut.
* * *
After dropping fifty feet straight down, the shaft curves to a slant. Upon reaching the curve, Akhu rams her staff deep into a crack in the wall, and with a split-second’s focus causes it to expand. A massive section of the wall breaks loose and tips to wedge between the angled walls, while rubble from above continues to pack in behind it.
Another hundred yards and Kabir, Cù Sìth and Mac slide from the angled shaft into a horizontal tunnel of stone, slipping and spinning on their backs and bellies with the wreckage of ice and ruined door, before coming to rest.
Mac hops up, flapping his wings, as Akhu rides in, surfing atop a hunk of ice. As she reaches the others, she hops off. She holds her staff out, one end above Kabir, the other over Cù. When they look at her from where they lie on their backs, she shakes the staff. They get the idea, each grab an end, and she lifts them to their feet.
Mac says. “I wouldn’t mind doing that again. Under different circumstances.”
Kabir surveys the tunnel. “I’m assuming there’s another way out.”
Akhu replies, “So am I.” She looks back the way they entered, says “That won’t hold them for long,” turns back and trots off down the tunnel.
Cù Sìth watches her go. “If this one is considered a pacifist among the Deva,” he comments, “I’m beginning to understand why we lost the Great Wars.”
Mac pats him on the back, chuckling, and flaps off after her.
The ice above has given way to light-blue granite. The circular tunnel is twenty feet in diameter with a flat floor, and proceeds straight ahead. The weird blue light from the glacier is dim, and getting dimmer. Though all four of them see well in low light, complete darkness poses difficulty. Kabir lights one of his swords, using it as a torch.
After several hundred yards they come to a round bronze door that completely blocks the tunnel. Kabir inspects it. Formed in the metal are snakes shaped into lettering reminiscent of pre-Hindi Sanskrit. Kabir raps the door with a knuckle and it rings, soft and deep. Akhu calls him back and goes to a set of long chimes in an alcove in the wall outside the door.
“Much like with the door above, the Naga use the symbols to open it. These are for guests.” She takes a mallet from a shelf and taps several of the chimes. The door rings with each, and at the last, continues to reverberate. There are sounds of metal sliding in stone, and the door rolls aside into a slot in the wall. Kabir and Cù Sìth peer in first. Torches on the walls light of their own accord, illuminating steps that curve deeper into the earth. Ledges run along both sides of the stairs, slightly concave, like shallow troughs.
Mac takes a few steps down and sits on one of the ledges. “Come now, lads, it’s fun,” he says, then swings his legs up in front of him and lets himself slide. They watch him glide away, picking up speed as he goes, crowing with the thrill of it.
Akhu hits one more chime and steps through the door as it begins to close. She takes a running leap, hits the slide head first, and zooms away.
Kabir says, “I’m less concerned about the mode of travel than what may be waiting at the bottom.”
Cù grunts in agreement, but sits in the slide feet first. Kabir sheathes his swords and does the same on the opposite side. He gives Cù a here goes nothing look and shoves off. Cù follows, the round door shutting with a clunk and ringing of metal behind him.
* * *
The staircase winds, deeper and deeper, the four of them sliding faster and faster. The ledges angle at the curves, keeping them firmly in place as they bank around them. Mac’s crowing echoes through the tunnel the whole way.
Eventually they level out, the ledges curving outward at the foot of the stairs. Mac hops off the end. Akhu launches herself into a front flip and lands on her feet. The dismounts of Kabir and Cù Sìth aren’t quite as graceful or controlled.
Cù stretches his neck as Kabir approaches. Mac struts up. “I told you it was fun.”
“I’m not sure I understand this ‘fun,’” Cù replies.
Mac says, “Bollocks, of course you’ve...” then smiles as he catches on. “Och, sarcasm. The Moddey Dhoo does have a sense of humor.” He frowns. “I don’t like it.”
* * *
On the surface, Kleron eyes the entrance blocked with ice and stone, and addresses The Quetzalcoatlus. “Ziz, would you go with Hugin to retrieve our package and gather up the men?”
Ziz opens his immense beak and says, “Of c-o-u-r-s-s-e, M-
a-s-s-s-t-e-r-r-r.”
Kleron calls to Hugin, who vanishes from Ziz’s crest to reappear on Kleron’s shoulder. “Hugin, escort our Quetzalcoatlus friend, if you please.” Hugin stares at Ziz with soft brown eyes that blink like a bird’s, then whispers in Kleron’s ear.
“What does it s-s-s-a-a-a-y?” Ziz hisses.
Kleron replies, “He says it doesn’t please him at all.” The vertical pupil in Ziz’s yellow eye that faces them narrows. “But he will do it.”
Hugin grins at Ziz, baring sharp monkey-teeth, and flies to Ziz’s crest.
Ziz takes a running leap, pumps his wings and soars into the air. Hugin spreads his raven-tail, flaps his raven-wings once, and they vanish.
* * *
At the foot of the stairs, Kabir, Cù Sìth, Mac and Akhu survey an expansive hall lit by gas-fed lamps on sconces, its high ceiling held by rows of columns. Kabir has seen magnificent architectural feats, but this...
The rock-cut architecture is exquisite, resembling the ancient city of Petra in Jordan, only far older and much larger. Every inch of the columns, walls and ceilings are carved in relief, some areas with snake scales, others with creatures of all kinds, elegant writing, or exquisite tableaus.
“Soon after Naga and his children were brought to this world, Asterion came with an army of craftsmen,” Akhu explains as they walk between the columns. “Naga saved his life during the Second Holocaust, and he offered to aid in the construction of a palace appropriate to Naga’s stature—meaning both his prominence and his size. Naga, fitted with tools, dug much of it. Together with the sentient species that lived here and Naga’s children, they built this place in a span of only ten years.” They continue along one wall, between wall and columns, studying the carvings as they pass. “Naga also completed many of the reliefs himself, over a period of centuries.”
Cù Sìth slows at a particular section of wall. The others join him in front of a panorama of snakes battling with birds that attack from the air. At one end of the panorama is an enormous cobra raised up. At the other is a falcon, equally as large, wings spread wide.
“Do you know what that is, Moddey Dhoo?” Mac asks.
Cù says, “Perhaps, from stories, but very little.”
“A Deva civil war, of sorts. There have been more of them than we’d like to admit. A feud more than a war, this was, but terrible nonetheless. After the Second Holocaust but well before the Deluge, Naga settled in the jungles of what is now called South Asia. But so did some others, including the one who became known by the people there as Garuda, in nearby mountains.
“Horus,” says Cù. “I was lying low during that time, in another part of the world.”
“Hiding,” Mac taunts.
Cù shifts on his feet.
“I don’t blame you, laddie,” Mac continues, “Perfectly understandable, considering everyone wanted you dead.” He turns back to the frieze. “Anyhow, Naga was breeding like crazy with natural snakes of the region. For his size, he’s got quite a tiny—”
“Mac,” Kabir interrupts.
Mac grins, but Akhu’s glare puts him back on track. “As it turned out, Naga’s children, the race called Naga, not only developed a taste for humans, but birds as well. Specifically, Garuda’s children. Naga refused to rein in his offspring, wanting them to live happy and free from the will of others. Asterion, known as Nandi in that part of the world, tried to mediate between the two, but Naga and Garuda are both proud bastards, and hostilities escalated. Many of their children were killed on both sides. Most all of Garuda’s perished. Finally, The Pater intervened, and when Naga still refused to control his progeny, Father brought them all here.”
“I see,” says Cù.
“And thus endeth your history lesson of the day.” For a moment they all study the relief, a remembrance of one of the Deva’s less-than-proud moments.
“Come,” says Akhu, but as they step out into the main hall, the lamps dim, casting them into near darkness. They halt at the sounds of hissing, and scales sliding on stone. Dark shadows slip past, low to the ground and all around. They catch glimpses of eyes, some with vertical pupils, some round, pausing, then undulating swiftly away.
Serpents, slithering around them, getting closer as they constrict the circle. One of them comes winding down a column and joins the others.
Kabir reaches for his swords and Cù Sìth bears his claws, a rumble rising in his throat.
“Hold still,” Akhu berates them.
The lamps go out, but a moment later the slithering stops and they’re lit again. The flames grow in the lamps, illuminating the hall as bright as it was before, and now they’re surrounded. Six snakes in all. But these are no natural snakes.
One of them resembles a rattlesnake with a head the size of a hippopotamus’s, coiled with its neck poised in an “S” shape, ready to strike, but with muscular arms held out like a wrestler’s. In each hand it holds a dagger with a wavy blade and handle of ruby. The others are of different shapes and sizes, but all have arms, some displaying nasty weapons, or fangs with metal sleeves. Forked tongues flicker, tasting the breath of their prey.
One of them, shining black, slimmer than the others at twelve inches in diameter, raises her head from the floor, ten feet high, and spreads a narrow cobra-like hood. She addresses Akhu with a hiss, and from her occasional nods and Akhu’s expression, they’re having a silent conversation the others aren’t privy to.
“I wish I knew what they were saying,” Cù grumbles.
Mac says, “If I had to guess, I’d say Akhu is telling her, ‘Let the Deva pass, but eat the big one.’”
Cù gives him a side-eye. “They would not be able to.”
“They would try,” says Akhu. “And the weapons they bear may not be of the highest Astra grade, but Naga made them, and he is no novice smith. You should also be aware that Naga’s children are quite fast.”
The tall cobra-like snake bows to Akhu and leads them further into the palace, keeping her head raised and hood spread as she slithers. The others escort them on both sides and from behind.
“This was not Naga’s only palace. There were others, and temples as well, above ground in great cities.” Akhu explains as they proceed. “In ages past, food was in abundance. There were lavish feasts, and the people worshipped Naga as their god.
“When the ice came in a swift cataclysmic shift. Naga retreated here, with any of his children and followers who would come. Eventually, all faded or left. These are the last of his children, as far as I know. Secondborn. All daughters. The most devoted to their father, who refused to leave him no matter the consequence.”
Kabir asks, “What do they eat?”
“There is a lake in the old caverns here, populated with species of blind fish. One of the reasons they chose this location for the palace.” She pauses, looking around at the snakes. When she speaks again, there’s sadness in her voice. “There were seven daughters when last I was here. Now there are six. They’re coming to the end of their lifespans.”
They continue for a quarter mile through the halls, turning on occasion, past various rooms, including steaming baths. The carvings on the walls become more elaborate, overlaid with gold and silver, inlaid with rubies and other gems. Other halls occasionally branch off, proceeding deep into the earth.
Thinking about the events of their flight from Kleron across worlds, Kabir says to Cù Sìth, “Thank you for catching me at the crevasse earlier. I would not have made it.”
Cù seems uncomfortable with such conversation. “You might have.”
“No, I wouldn’t. That’s more than once you’ve saved my life, Moddey Dhoo.”
Cù Sìth hesitates, then says, “I have not expressed my gratitude for intervening when my brothers had me at a disadvantage at Father’s home.” He pauses. “I... might not have made it.” Another pause, as if he’s never spoken the words before. “Thank you.” Mac looks at him, surprised but approving, and Akhu smiles.
Kabir says, “You’re welcome.” Cù
frowns and is silent. Kabir’s brow furrows as he considers something else. “Cù Sìth, the box you cut from the back of Ziz. Did you see what it was?”
“No,” Cù replies. “I cut the straps to slow him down, and anger him.”
Mac says, “I believe you succeeded on both counts.”
Kabir remains serious. “Did you get a good look at it?”
“Somewhat,” Cù says.
“Any details that stood out?”
“There were lights, I believe, but unlit. And small screens, though they displayed nothing.”
Mac listens carefully, glancing at Kabir with concern. Akhu pays close attention as well.
“Were there symbols?” Kabir continues. “Perhaps tri-part, black and yellow, with a circle in the center?
“Exactly like that, yes,” Cù answers. “Why do you ask?”
“It’s a nuclear device,” Kabir says quietly. “A weapon of mass destruction.”
* * *
Four of the soldiers outfitted in winter garb set the box down on the ice. Nearby, Ziz uses his beak to lift the largest of the stones that block the entrance to Naga’s abode and toss them to the side. A team of soldiers set to digging.
One of the men removes his gloves to enter a combination on the box and lift the lid. Inside, it is thickly padded, and suspended in a special rack to protect it from shock is a nuclear device.
“Is it functional?” Kleron asks.
The man lifts the thermal balaclava that protects him from the sub-zero temperatures. “Yes, sir,” he replies. “This case was designed for high impact. You could practically drop it from a plane without damaging the mechanism.”
“Good,” Kleron responds. He turns to the blocked entrance, where the team of men are shoveling out ice, snow, and crushed stone. Xeco chops and scoops with his beak as well, moving as much blockage himself as the men combined.
One of the men lifts his goggles and balaclava. This one, however, is not a man. Sharp fangs can be seen behind his pale lips as he speaks. “This is going to take awhile, boss.” It’s the wampyr policeman who was waiting outside the hospital while Kleron attacked with his minions, and then was stationed outside Peter’s home with Luc, the werewolf technician.